


Take the Pain Away

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, dean drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 15:43:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13216902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester ‘s (on Tumblr) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. This one is for the prompt ‘him taking care of you when you’re sick.’ Reader falls victim to a migraine, and Dean helps her through it. Another one I missed posting on here :)





	Take the Pain Away

The nimbus of light shimmers, small and elusive, right at the edge of your peripheral vision. It’s maddening, your eyes move, trying to catch it, pin it down, but it moves right along. So you try to ignore it, try to pretend that it’s eye strain, too many hours on the laptop helping the boys with research on the demon they’re currently hunting.

Sam looks at you, confusion, then concern, in his eyes as he watches you try to focus. The light is slowly growing, larger and brighter, and you know what it means. But you deny it to yourself, no matter how ineffectual that is, hoping against hope that it really is just eye strain. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks softly, and Dean looks up at his question, then turns towards you.

“Babe? What is it?” He stands immediately, coming to your side, and you look up at him. He watches as your eyes fight to focus, you make a sad attempt at a smile, and his brow furrows, his lips in a stern line. “That’s it, come on. You’re taking a break.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve just been staring at the computer for too long.” He doesn’t argue, just takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, leading you from the room. You pull away gently as you reach the hall, your back to the wall as you protest. “Dean, we have to find this thing.”

“What’s really going on, Y/N?” he asks, his worried frown, then his eyes, framed in the opalescent halo that is now nearly filling your entire range of vision.

“I don’t want…” Tears suddenly fill your eyes, and you can barely see now. “I just want to close my eyes and make it go away.”

“What, baby? What’s happening?” His hand is on your face now as your tears begin to fall. “Please, tell me.”

You take a ragged breath, your eyes closed against the torturing vision, but it’s there whether your eyes are closed or not. “I’m getting a migraine. A bad one. It hasn’t happened in a long time, and I always hope that the last one  _was_  the last one. But it starts with the lights, at the edge of my vision, and they grow bigger and brighter until I can barely see. Then they fade away, and the pain comes. I don’t want it,” you sob softly.

“Do you need… Should we go to a doctor?” He’s cradling your face in both hands now, the worry thick in his voice.

“Doesn’t help. I need to be in a dark room, quiet, and I should take some pain meds now before it starts.” You step into him, your arms around him as you burrow your head in his chest. “I can’t make it stop, I can never make it stop.” You’re trembling as he wraps you in his arms, holding you tight for a moment before he moves away, leading you towards the bedroom.

You can hardly focus now, and the fear of what’s coming is almost as bad as the pain itself. Dean leads you to the bed, sitting you down and hurrying to the bathroom. You hear him getting pills, running water, and soon he’s back, pressing the pain medication into your hand. “Here, take these.” He waits for you to drink, then sets the glass down on the table beside the bed. He turns to the dresser, pulling open drawers until he finds pajama pants and an old flannel shirt you stole from him months ago, worn to skin-comforting softness.  “Lift your arms,” he orders softly, and he pulls your shirt off over your head, then removes your bra before pulling the soft cotton up your arms and over your shoulders. He silently urges you to stand, removing your jeans, replacing them with the pajamas. He looks up at you as he kneels between your knees, his fingers on the buttons of the shirt, then helps you to your feet again and folds down the covers on the bed. “Lay down, baby.”

As you crawl between the sheets, he sits at the edge of the bed and takes off his boots. Then he’s beside you, pulling you close, covering you both with the blankets, his fingers threading through your hair gently. “How are those lights?”

“They’re fading. The pain is coming. Dean…”

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay. I’ll be right here with you. Just hold on to me, okay? Everything’s gonna be okay.”

You whimper as it begins to build, quickly, slamming into you so hard that you begin to cry. He just holds you tighter, lets you curl up against him, his hands and his soft words soothing you. You fight the nausea, but it finally wins, and he helps you into the bathroom, washing your face gently after you finish.  When you get back to the bed, you’re writhing in agony as he tries to hold you, and finally he pulls you in tight against him, not letting you pull away. “Baby, listen to me. You’ve gotta stop fighting. Just let it happen. Let it happen, and let it go.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes. You can.” He rests his face against the top of your head as you struggle against him. “You are the strongest person I know, sweetheart. I’ve seen you fight creatures twice your size without blinking an eye. I’ve seen you clench your jaw so hard I thought you’d crack teeth, working up the nerve to put stitches in me or Sam. You’ve hid injuries from me just so you could finish a job, finish making sure someone else was safe. So don’t tell me you can’t.” You can feel him, his strength, his faith in you, and you force yourself to breathe, you will your muscles to relax. He keeps talking softly, holding you, the waves of pain washing over you, but it’s almost bearable now, and finally the pain pills he made you swallow earlier begin to kick in. The pain backs off just enough that you can find some blessed relief in sleep, and you let yourself drift away in his arms.

You wake slowly, reluctant to open your eyes. The throbbing is still there, but fading, not so intense now. Dean’s arms are still around you, holding you close, and he shifts, clearing his throat as he feels you move. “Hey. How you doin’?” he says, his voice rough and sleepy.

“It’s letting up,” you say softly as he kisses your forehead. “I need to sleep a little longer. You can go help Sam. I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll go when you’re better. Just close your eyes.” He snuggles you in closer, then mutters, “Bossy,” into your hair, and you smile in spite of yourself.


End file.
